Sculpting Play-Doh
by RaisinPie
Summary: Eventually, Jem forgets which Herondale he's trying to help. (heronstairs)
1. A Lesson in Legato

Ten minutes into their lesson, and Jem has to call it quits. He's exhausted, his student is miserable, and no progress is going to be made like this. With a sigh, he lowers his violin, knowing it won't be played again for at least another half hour. "Would you like a cup of cocoa?"

Jamie makes a funny face that betrays nothing at all. Jem had been a shy kid too, and it'd taken some especially caring adults to open him up. Jem rises, closing the music book on the stand. "Come on, I'll let you scoop the chocolate yourself."

His kitchen is small, but clean, and Jamie himself looks like a tiny centerpiece, sitting on a too-big chair and stirring his cocoa with a fist wrapped around his spoon. Jem takes the seat across from him. It's a little strange, sharing the same name with a five year old. He'd caused himself a headache one night, imagining Jamie growing up and teaching violin lessons to another James, and the ongoing cycle continuing.

"I'm sorry I kept messing up," Jamie mumbles. He sticks the spoon in his mouth and it bulges out through his cheeks.

Jem smiles. "It's alright. I know how well you can play when you're in the right mood. But you seemed distracted today."

Jamie nods, fixated on his mug.

"Is there something bothering you?" Jem prods.

At first, Jem doesn't think he's going to get an answer. Then: "Can I have a marshmallow?"

"Um." Jem glances over the cabinets. "I might have some peeps from Easter."

"Please?" Jamie's honey eyes widen a fraction, and Jem has a feeling this kid is used to getting what he wants.

"How about I make it a reward?" Jem says. "But you have to tell me what's bugging you first."

Jamie's tiny mouth screws up. His nose scrunches, and it might just be one of the cutest things Jem has ever seen. "Kay…" Jamie fidgets in his seat. His hands jam under his thighs. "It's my mommy."

Gravity tightens its hold and the air flow in the room halts. "Did she do anything to hurt you?" Jem's tone is neutral and oh so carefully soft.

Jamie shakes his head, making an unhappy noise. "It's her birthday today."

"Oh." Jem's shoulders relax for a moment, before he realizes he may have stepped onto even thinner ice. "Is there going to be a party to celebrate?"

"That's what we always do. 'Cept not this year."

"Why not?"

"Cause she's not here!" Jamie blurts out. It's the first time he's risen above mumbles, and there's something inexplicably painful about the high-pitched anguish of a child. A fat tear rolls down Jamie's flushed cheek, though he quickly scrubs it away. "No one's ever missed their own _party_ before. Not even when Lucie broked her wrist, cause Mommy fed her cake with a spoon."

Jem is maybe considering he shouldn't have started this in the first place, because it's really none of his business. But for all he knows, Jamie doesn't have a single responsible adult in his life. "Is there an important reason why your mommy can't be here?"

"Daddy says she's gone. Gone and she can't come back and 'that's that young man.'" The real crying starts kicking in and Jem slides the tissue box across the table, helping to dab his face dry.

It takes a good few minutes to calm him down, but it's completely worth it, to see evidence of Jamie's tension uncoil from his face, his shoulders, his slumped chest. Jem ruffles Jamie's messy hair and offers a gentle smile. "You know, your mommy might not be here for this birthday, but the good memories you have of her will always stay with you. I bet you had a lot of fun at her last birthday?"

Jamie makes a wobbly, sniffly noise. There's snot bubbling from his nose, and Jem wipes that off too, glad for his experience with Max. "Yeah, I guess," Jamie squeaks.

"Can you tell me what you remember? I'd love to know."

And that's how Jem spends the rest of his Monday evening lesson. With his chin propped in his hand and listening intently to some (heavily embellished) accounts of a stranger's last two birthdays, as seen through the eyes of child. Jamie's mood improves more and more, the edge of his shyness evaporating just like it always does as they progress through a regular lesson. Jem can't stifle his smile whenever Jamie explodes into giggles. The sound is pure, genuine delight.

By the time the doorbell rings, they've already moved back into the living room. Jem is gathering up all of Jamie's music books and Jamie is standing there, watching, one hand clutching his violin case and the other suffocating a pastel marshmallow rabbit.

Usually, Jem stays in the doorway to ensure his younger students make it to their parents' cars safe and sound. This time is different. He walks Jamie down to the Hyundai Sonata waiting by the curb and knocks on its passenger's side window. It's tinted, so Jem can't see a thing inside. His stomach is churning, but what needs to be done is hardly ever easy.

The driver's door opens and a tall man steps out. Black curls, Jem notes, just like his son. "Get inside," he orders, and Jamie obeys without a word.

The man has to walk around his car to join Jem on the sidewalk, and in those short few seconds, Jem comes to the conclusion that he's very attractive. And that he's never seen eyes so blue in his life.

"You want to speak with me about something?" Mr. Herondale adjusts his tie and collar like it's second nature.

"Yes, it's about your son. He was having a hard time concentrating today."

Mr. Herondale eyes Jamie in the backseat of his car. The boy is staring at the floor and hugging his books to his chest.

"He told me it's his mother's birthday."

"Did he now? I'll have a talk with him, I'm sorry he bothered you."

"There's no need to apologize," Jem says quickly. "I was just going to suggest that you go over the topic with him. Jamie needs emotional support right now. He should understand _why_ exactly his mother can't be there." Only foggily can Jem picture the woman from Jamie's first lesson. Some brunette and a name beginning with 't'.

Mr. Herondale's expression hardens and sends chills snaking down Jem's back. "His mother isn't a part of his life anymore. There _is_ no other reason worth going over."

"So you're going to pretend she never existed?" Jem effectively muffles his incredulity. It simmers though, just below the surface. "And Jamie is supposed to go along with that?"

"I'll thank you to let me decide how to raise my own kids. If I wanted advice, the last person I would ask is a childless college student getting his music degree."

Jem's nails dig into his palms. The music thing is a low blow, too contrite to be hurtful, and they look about the same age anyway. It's Jamie Jem's angry for. How an adult could be so pretentious as to ignore their child's welfare for the sake of their ego.

"From someone who lost their parents when they were very young," Jem calls out after Mr. Herondale, who's already rounded his car. The man pauses, hand on the door handle, probably waiting for Jem to shut up so Jamie doesn't overhear any of it. "I speak from experience," Jem continues. "When people censored their names in conversation or ignored them in stories, it didn't give me space or help me heal. It made me cling tighter. Because I thought everyone else in the world had forgotten them."

Mr. Herondale climbs into his expensive car. Slams the door. His tires screech on the pavement and Jem is left alone on the sidewalk.

 _Asshole_ , he thinks. Then he sighs, feeling the sharp sting of worry as he heads back into his house.

* * *

"So call child protective services."

"Alec, for godsakes." Jem drops the milk carton at the bottom of their shopping cart. It rumbles the metal and makes Max gurgle. "He's not abusing his kid."

"Then stop whining about him and help me find the bread section."

"We passed it five minutes ago. It's not an aisle, it's on a bunch of tables."

"Jam," Max coos, waving a chubby fist at Jem. He offers his pinkie finger up for sacrifice, smiling and letting Max grapple it with his tiny fingers.

"Whoever designed this place needs to be fired. Ugh! All I ask for is some common sense. They might as well put the ice cream at the checkout stand."

"Get enough sleep lately?" Jem asks, perfectly meek and pushing the cart after Alec's angry strides.

"Maybe I would. If Magnus' business trips were a little less frequent."

Jem wants to ask, but Alec gets annoyed when his passive aggressive comments get taken too seriously. He just stares as Alec loads one loaf too many into the cart-or maybe four or five. Even Max looks skeptical.

"I don't need your judgement," Alec says. "You've never tasted Magnus' french toast before. I guess we still need eggs, huh?"

"Wasn't the guy such a _jerk_ though?"

Alec looks thoughtful as he threads his fingers through Max's wooly hair. "What's his name?"

"William," Jem replies immediately. He'd reread the cursive on the check Jamie had handed him. "Or...Bill? Liam?"

"Wiley?" Alec suggests.

"Just-no."

"You started it."

"I'd take it all back if I could."

"I mean yeah, this Wiley guy is pretty dense. But that's no reason to get so worked up over it." Alec hijacks the cart from him and spins it in place, leading them in an all new direction. This is received with some happy bouncing from Max. Alec grins. "Dada's gonna get you some diapers now, okay?"

"Dada!" Max shrieks with delight.

"Because you sure do stink sometimes, Maxi-taxi."

Jem can't help but silently agree. They're entering the baby aisle when his hand darts out and he grips Alec's arm with a vengeance.

"If you would kindly release me, I need that to carry my infant for a few more years-"

"That's him."

Alec straightens. "Who?"

"Wiley. Don't act like...yourself."

"Thanks for the self-esteem boost," Alec mutters as the cart rolls forward. He stops in the area with diaper brands, but openly gawks over his shoulder. Jem would elbow Alec's side if he wasn't looking too. William is at the other end of the aisle, browsing the bottles while the little girl in his cart kicks up her legs. Jamie trails after his father, looking about as bored as any kid forced to grocery shop.

"Oh," Alec breathes. "I see now why you're so obsessed. The guy is hot."

"Not really," Jem says, not meaning it at all.

"He looks a disconcerting amount like me. Do you have any lovesick confessions to make, Carstairs?"

"You first, since Magnus and I both have black hair and brown eyes. Isn't that where the similarities end?"

"A fair point."

"And I'm not obsessed," Jem says. "With his looks. It's something else."

"His personality? Douchebag child-neglecter. You really know how to pick 'em."

Will isn't _that_ bad. He'd been rude, yes, and condescending. But Jem can see how much he cares about his kids, in the gentle way he tucks his daughter's curls behind her ear. It's hard to blame a single parent for having issues with their spouse. And Jem realizes it's not Will he's been lingering over.

"I think...Jamie reminds me of myself when I was younger."

Jamie has his head tilted back toward the ceiling. He's staring. At the fan or the harsh fluorescents, Jem doesn't know, and either way, he won't find a escape rope to climb out.

It's quiet without any of Alec's snide comments. A pack of diapers joins the pile in the cart and they head for the checkout lines. "So what're you going to do about it?" Alec finally says.

"Nothing. I don't have the influence."

"You still have lessons with the kid, don't you?"

He's still wondering if he has an answer to that when a cart rumbles in behind them. Jem's peripherals are enough to make an educated guess about who it is. Will no doubt recognizes him too, and they're both content to pretend they haven't noticed. Jem's heart taps insistently in his chest. He's going to get out of this. It's no problem.

Something tugs on the hem of his shirt, and Jem glances down to find a dewy-eyed little boy with a baseball cap sitting backwards on his head.

"Hi," Jamie mumbles.

Jem's eyes automatically flick to Will, who puts on a surprisingly pleasant facade. "Hey, you're his violin tutor aren't you?"

Jem chooses to ignore him in lieu of lightly bopping Jamie on the head. "I like your hat."

"Thanks, daddy got it for me." For some reason, Jamie keeps his fingers curled in Jem's shirt.

"Sorry, I'm bad with names." Will scrubs at the back of his curls. He looks...normal. In a crewcut sweater and faded jeans and no evidence of barbed-wire. It's weird. "Can you refresh me?"

"Mine shouldn't be hard to remember. It's the same as your son's." Jem finds himself smiling back, unironically.

"James." It crystallizes on Will's lips.

"William," Jem says.

"I'm surprised you shop so far from home."

"I wouldn't usually." Jem tickles under Max's chin, causing a few impish giggles. "It's not for me. They sell the best applesauce here."

Alec leans against their cart. "And besides, I need Jem for his navigation skills. He's a regular Columbus."

"That's rich Lightwood. You couldn't even find the bread by yourself."

"Oh crap, that reminds me. We never got eggs."

"So what's your son's name?" Will asks, although he's looking at Jem, which doesn't make sense because Max doesn't look even a little bit asian. But Alec doesn't have Max's dark skin either, so Will must've reached the correct conclusion that Max is adopted.

Oh. _Oh._

"We're not," Jem gestures between him and Alec, forgetting how to form words. "Um, together."

"But we were last night," Alec chuckles, loading their items on the conveyor belt and not helping at all.

"He's married to another man. Max is theirs, they adopted."

Alec is paying. Will's eyebrows are sky high and his cheeks are a shade red. That didn't come out right. Now he's made himself out to be the bit on the side.

"Wait," Jem says.

"Next." The cashier tears off the receipt.

"Coming stud muffin?" Alec places his hand on Jem's forearm, smirk hidden in his shoulder.

"Are we still scheduled for Monday next week?" Will changes the subject without a hitch. "Jamie's been practicing a lot and he can't wait." Jamie consequently buries his face in his dad's thigh.

"Yeah of course, just like always."

"It's been nice seeing you around. Hasn't it Jamie?"

Jem gives up on trying to clear his name and returns Jamie's shy wave. Once they're through the automatic doors and out in the parking lot, Jem has to whisper his profanity in Alec's ear or else Max will repeat it at daycare.

"Genius is always misunderstood," Alec shakes his head. "At least my son was there to witness it."

"Would you want a homewrecker tutoring your kid?"

" _He_ does, apparently. And the only reason he acted nice was because his kids were there. I have encountered this breed before."

"I really don't want to lose this job." What Jem means is, he doesn't want to abandon Jamie when he might be needed.

"You won't. His kid likes you too much."

Jem mulls it over in his head, picking apart Alec's sweet reassurance until there's only dry, unappetizing crumbs left. Getting involved, falling deeper into the rabbit hole, carries more than a few dangers.

* * *

Jamie shows up right on time the following Monday. Aside from a few interruptions where Jamie stutters out his burning questions- _Am I allowed to talk about her?_ and _Do you think she would like my playing?_ (Jem smoothly answers 'yes' to both) -everything plays out by the books. Jem proudly notes how much Jamie's 'Ode to Joy' has improved.

At the close of the hour Jem checks the window in the foyer. His gaze sweeps the street, once, twice, then he returns to the living room. "It doesn't look like your dad is here yet."

Jamie plops back down on the armchair, his violin case thunking to the ground.

"Do you think we should keep practicing or do you just want to relax?"

Jamie's cheeks balloon like a blowfish. "Lax."

"Okay. Do you want anything to drink?"

"Juice."

"What kind?"

"Chocolate."

Huffing a breath of laughter, Jem translates that to mean orange and heads for the kitchen.

* * *

Jem's original assumption that Will would be a few minutes late is plain wrong, and that's fine. But absurdity starts bleeding in at the two hour mark. By then, the bronze sky outside has wilted, replaced by brooding blues, and all the curtains in his house have been drawn. The dim sources of illumination stem from the television and the reading light propped on Jem's elbow.

Behind him, Jamie has made himself at home on the couch. He's curled up like a roly-poly, cheek squished on the armrest and curls tousled every which way. Jem had turned down the TV volume after he fell asleep. The coffee table is covered in homework that isn't due until Friday, though Jem's still trying to soldier through. He's feeling a little sleepy himself, but his signal to go to bed only arrives alongside a doorbell.

Will is on his doorstep. Jem drinks him in like champagne because he is a bottle full. Strained, agitated, and a mix of several mild poisons.

"Jesus I can't apologize enough, I got held up in a meeting that ran much later than it had any business doing, then traffic was terrible, and my phone was dead so I had no way of contacting you. And is Jamie alright?"

Will's eyes are wild by the end of his rant, while Jem remains composed. Smiles even.

"All four limbs still intact. He's napping on my couch."

"Thank you," Will sighs as he follows Jem inside.

"He got pretty hungry, so I fed him dinner. I hope you don't mind."

"No, that's-what did you feed him?"

"Grilled cheese sandwich. I used whole wheat bread, and put baby carrots and broccoli on the side." Jem is relieved to receive a warmly approving look from Will. "I get a lot of experience from my friend's kid. Babysitting, and the like."

"The one from the grocery store."

"Mm." Jem's cheeks heat. "He's a handful. A real comedian."

"Oh." Will freezes beside the couch, chest deflating at the sight of his sleeping son. Jem's opinion of someone has never been flipped so severely. "Blues Clues."

Jem shuts off the television, plunging the room into a prison of shadows. He can still make out most everything, including Will, his warmth and steady breathing. "Sorry if that wasn't appropriate," he whispers for Jamie's sake, "I know some parents are choosy about what they expose their kids to."

"You did amazing. And as if Blues Clues is really going to scar him for life."

"I don't know, when they casually switch Steve's actor it's pretty traumatizing."

Will chuckles and it sends a ripple of delight all the way to Jem's toes. The next time he speaks, Will's tone has undergone a full metamorphosis. "About last Monday, I'm sorry for being overly harsh. I won't change my stance, but that didn't give me the right to insult you."

"I can't claim to know everything about the situation," Jem replies solemnly. "So it was more presumptuous on my part."

"The past few weeks have been stressful for me. But that's not an excuse. Just a factor."

"It's not a problem," Jem breathes, eyes following Will as he carefully scoops Jamie up from the couch. The boy whines from somewhere at the back of his throat and mumbles slurs. A fragile sweetness blooms in his chest.

Jem holds the front door open and Will mouths a goodbye as he sidles out.

* * *

Exchanging phone numbers with parents is a requirement, in case of an emergency on either end. No one has actually _called_ him before. Until one afternoon while Jem's sitting and waiting for the bus. When he reads the caller ID, his shock diminishes by a factor of Herondale.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Jamie's father. William?"

"Oh yes. I remember you."

"Right." Jem can _feel_ Will's grin from the other end of the line. "I have an unorthodox question for you."

Jem's first thought is that Will wants to thank him somehow. A gift or some money or an invitation for dinner. His pulse speeds up for no discernible reason.

"It's hard enough finding trustworthy people, let alone someone who Jamie feels comfortable around. But it's gotten to the point where this has become an absolute necessity. Would you consider babysitting?"

"Sitting?" Jem echoes. "For Jamie?"

"And Lucie, my daughter. If you even want the job at all. Do you?"

"I mean, yes." Jem doesn't know what he's saying, hasn't even thought about it yet. But his voice sounds so sure. "Yes. How old is she?"

"Three years old. You're an angel, James. I'll be texting you soon with times and dates."

"Sounds great," Jem says.

He clutches his phone lap and tries to just be happy. That he's accessible to Jamie more than ever and that Will _chose_ him, of all people. But he can't strike the feeling that he's teetering, close to toppling into a chasm of some unexplainable fear.


	2. Tourniquet the Stump

Halfway through the deck, Jem hears the front door locks opening and glances up from his hand. It's early.

"Toose?" Lucie pokes her brother and Jamie shoves her off with more force than needed.

"Careful," Jem chimes.

Jamie rolls his eyes. "Go-fish."

Lucie is suddenly distracted by a piece of lint on the carpet, so Jem draws a card for her and tucks it in her hand. Jamie groans loudly.

"Everything alright in here?" Will strides into the room and Lucie drops the lint to squeal at the top of her lungs.

"Daddy! Daddy is home!" She flings up her arms and Will gathers her in a little bundle to cradle against his chest.

"Cut it out," Jamie pouts. His sister is a harmony of giggles. "We're playing."

"Oh," Will says, raising an amused eyebrow at Jem. "And what is this game of the century called?"

"Go-fish." Jem is sitting on the ground with his legs folded pretzel-style.

Jamie is laid down on his stomach, cards fanned out in front of his face. "Lucie keeps messing it up. We shouldn't have let her join."

"Why not? Because you're scared she'll beat you?"

"Wha? No!"

"I think you are, James. And I won't stand for it." Will takes that in a very literal sense. He sits down in Lucie's previous spot, holding her in his lap, and gently tugs away her cards. Jem imagines he's exhausted after eight hours of work, but in front of his children, he acts as energetic as the rest of them. It's beautiful.

"You're playing too?" Jem asks.

"No fair!"

"So you _are_ scared Lucie's going to beat you." Will props her up against his chest and his breath tickles her hair. "Just admit it."

"You're on." If five year olds could look threatening, Jamie is approaching that.

"Any objections?"

Jem is surprised to find Will looking at him.

"To what?" Jem asks. "Winning?"

Will's mouth drops open, and then he's laughing and Jem feels that incredible rush, coursing through his veins. Even though his presence isn't needed anymore, Jem stays for three more games, and not a single Herondale seems to mind.

* * *

"Did Jamie and Lucie spur you to adopt?" Will easily slides in beside him, leaning against the brick wall, arm brushing Jem's. His skin tingles like it's on a magnetic field. "No one would blame you."

"It's a favor for a friend," Jem crosses his arms. Although it's Alec trying to do _him_ the favor. Ever since discovering his son and Lucie attend the same daycare, he's been insisting Jem be on pick-up duty for Max. Jem has agreed, just this once. To get Alec off his back.

Will nods slowly. "The one who's married."

"Maybe."

"Or…" Will tilts his head, examining him, with eyes blazing trails of blue fire. Jem just hopes the heat hasn't turned him pink. "Is it another one of your affairs?"

"Exactly how many do you think I have?"

"As many as you want," Will says, breezily, grinning. "You should tell me about one."

"And I thought Lucie was the only one who needed imaginary tales to fall asleep."

"I wouldn't dream of falling asleep on you James."

 _James._ Jem's still neglected to tell him everyone, everyone uses the nickname.

"I do have one story," Jem begins, because it's an excuse to prolong this.

"Murder my time."

"Her name was Olivia, and she was the wife of a wealthy banker." Jem rests his head against the rough brick. He has to close his eyes to spin something good, something believable but juicy. "She was eccentric, wild. We would sleep together in her caravan, which she'd use for fortune-telling during the day. And one night, while lying in the sheets together, she decided to read my fortune."

"Did you really believe in that sham?" Will plays the part of a perfect audience member.

"Not at first." Jem leans in, slipping inside the perfect storyteller, feeling the wool of Will's breath. "But I'd learn to take my chances."

* * *

Alec and Magnus notice. They make their observations known, make jokes sometimes, and Jem lets them because it's true. When he tries to remember how he got so invested, he can't, because the culmination takes place over months. In crayon drawings, picnics at the park, and visits to the aquarium. Lucie loves the fish and she blathers on about their pretty colors for days afterwards. Jem stays a good listener.

Something in Jamie shifts. Jem can't pinpoint that either. And suddenly, Jamie doesn't want to practice violin anymore. Doesn't like any of the lunches Jem cooks, even though he claimed just last week mac 'n cheese was his favorite food in the whole world.

The bowl sits untouched on the table. Lucie tugs on Jem's hand, wants to play stuffed animals. Can't right now.

Jem asks What's wrong? Do you feel sick?

Jamie shakes his head. I hate this stuff.

That's okay. Do you want something else for lunch?

No.

(and then)

I hate you.

Jem blinks, stunned.

You can't make it as good as she can.

No Jem agrees, hands sliding over the cool countertop, drenched in a flood of blues. I really can't.

Because moms are irreplaceable, and so are wives. Will mentions her offhandedly, but short snippets are enough when they're spoken with the emotion Will's been burying for-God knows how long. Jem is not her equivalent. He is a bandage wrapped over an amputation.

But just because things will never be the same doesn't mean the skin over the wound can't grow back. The main body is still functioning. Jem is content that its heart has opened to let him inside.

* * *

"How many eggs did you put in there?"

"Seven," Will says. "Isn't that what you said?"

Jem parts his lips, then thinks better of it and continues rooting through the grocery bags.

"Do I keep mixing?" Jamie asks.

"Keep micking?" Lucie mimics from her spot on the tiles. Like her brother, she's holding a wooden spoon, but the big plastic bowl between her legs is empty.

"Yes," Jem replies. "But only if your arm isn't tired." Because the strength of a five year old won't do the job, and Will or Jem will have to take over anyway.

Jamie ignores him. Looks toward his dad.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear," Will frowns.

"Here," Jem motions for Will to come to the table. They line the three bowls of dough side-by-side and Jem uncaps the green food coloring, offering it to Jamie. "Can you squeeze a dab of this into one of the bowls?"

Jamie takes a sharp inhale and nods vigorously. As of late, he rarely ever shows excitement in front of Jem. His little arms are shaky, but he does the first bowl perfectly. And the second one, where he uses red colored dye instead.

For a moment, Jamie forgets, and he glances over his shoulder for approval. Jem's smile has the opposite of its intended effect. It drains Jamie of color.

With the last bottle-the blue dye-he empties half the tube into the bowl before Will can snatch it out of his hand.

"Whoops," Jamie mutters, unconvincing.

"What is the matter with you?" Will asks. "Just a pinch would've been enough. Like you did with the others."

"It's fine," Jem says. "Totally harmless."

"It was an axeedent," Jamie's tongue fumbles on the pronunciation. His eyes are already beginning to fill with tears. "Why're you mad at me daddy? I'm real sorry."

With a huff, Will pulls Jamie close and kisses his forest of curls.

Jem swipes the blue bowl off the table and paces over to the counter. He begins mixing, hoping the consistency of the dough isn't affected. He wants all the families at the recital to enjoy a nice treat, and he's grateful for Will agreeing to help out and letting him use his kitchen. Lucie too, sweet baby.

And then there's Jamie.

Jem has learned not to react to him, because what good would it do? He hates Jem for taking over his mother's role. But leaving would rob him and Lucie of a caretaker (for a second time) and create the impression that adults shouldn't be trusted. Or possibly trigger abandonment issues. The dilemma leaves something like guilt twisting with his organs.

"Should we mix these other bowls?" Will asks.

"Until the coloring sets in." Jem glances down at Lucie on the floor. "After the cookies get baked, we need you to put little candies on top."

Lucie gasps and claps her hands in joy.

* * *

"I rate seven out of ten, Carstairs."

"Stop eating those, they're half gone. Did you even bring anything to the potluck?"

"Max?" Magnus heaves him higher on one arm. The toddler flashes a toothless smile.

"We brought moral support," Alec says. "Isn't that the most nourishing food there is?"

Jem swirls his punch around his cup, drawing a deep breath. "Excuse me, I have to go make small talk with the parents."

"Sounds like fun," Magnus says.

Ten minutes until show time. Jem flutters from family to family, greeting his students and making introductions with the others. He's standing next to Emily Barkk, describing the pros and cons of music school to her dad, when a familiar giggle blends with the noise in the room. Lucie.

Jem spares a glance backwards. Will is carrying Jamie's violin case and waves with his free hand. As soon as he's done with Mr. Barkk, Jem heads over.

"You guys didn't have to bring anything," Jem says after Jamie has shoved a tray of brownies at him. Jem sets it on the banquet table with the other sweets.

"Cookie," Lucie points.

"You can have some." Jem's eyes comfortably rest on Will. "If that's alright with dad?"

"Go ahead. Jamie, help your sister."

Once they're alone, Jem lets the cheerful mask drop and bites his bottom lip. "I don't know why I'm so nervous."

"So there _is_ a first time for everything." Will's eyes brighten a shade. "Everything will be fine. What's the worse that could happen?"

"Parents aren't impressed with their child's progress. They fire me and take their business somewhere else."

"This is your first recital, isn't it?"

Jem shakes his head in defeat. "Is Jamie as nervous as me?"

"No, strangely enough." He feels an electric jolt when Will's hand lands on his shoulder. It's stubborn and warm. "Everything will be amazing, just relax. We'll sit together."

Jem exhales and nods.

"Eleven o' clock," Alec calls.

Jem clears his throat. "Can I get everyone in their seats?"

After lining the kids up in the order they'll be performing, Jem leads Will and Lucie to the front row. He wants to stay in his students' line of sight. Hopefully it'll relieve some anxiety, the way Will's face does for Jem as he's making the opening announcements. First up on the program is Peter Jerkins. Jem helps prep the music stand before dropping down in his seat.

"Suicide pact?" Jem asks.

"Can't. I'm a family man." Will offers his arm instead. Jem is too apprehensive to be embarrassed. He wraps his fingers around it and squeezes.

Peter puts his bow to the strings. There are mistakes here and there, but Peter powers through them, and Jem couldn't be more proud. His grip on Will loosens, until he completely detaches to join the applause at the end.

"What did I tell you?" comes a whisper. Jem can easily imagine Will's lips brushing his ear.

"Jamie's up next."

Will tugs his phone out of his pocket to record, while Jamie ambles up to the music stand, hefting his violin and book. He gazes out across the crowd and locks onto Jem. Not his father or his sister, just Jem. It's impossible to tell what's going through his head, so Jem gives an encouraging nod.

His book drops open on the stand. His violin tucks under his chin and his dark lashes flutter shut.

The strings wring out a mellow tune, but it's not the one they've been preparing for months. It's much more simple, much shorter, and finishes before Jem knows it. And then, Jamie is gathering up his book. He's walking off the dais. Jem stares at the empty space that's left behind.

"Was that...twinkle, twinkle, little star?" Will lowers his phone.

Jem licks his bone dry lips. "I'm as surprised as you are."

Penny Pho goes up after Jamie, just as planned. The recital continues and his other fifteen students get through without any major speed bumps. At the final note, Jem stands up and calls all the performers back to take a bow. The show ends. Parents stand up to embrace their kids, kids streamline for the snack table.

Will doesn't make any comments. When Jamie runs up for a hug, Will congratulates him and suggests they get some sweets.

Left alone, Jem rubs his arm and tries to place the emotion that's bubbling inside him. He'll have to have a talk with Jamie at some point...But he should be relieved. It's over isn't it?

"Good show," Alec pats Jem's back. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm your friend. Max stayed quiet the whole time."

"He fell asleep?"

Magnus is swaying with Max nestled in his arms. He smiles, looking thankful.

"It's a miracle!" Alec's voice is hushed.

"Did you notice anything…weird?" Jem asks. "About someone's playing?"

Alec furrows his brow, and it sounds more like a question when he answers. "Well, no one's perfect."

It's clearly not what Jem's looking for and Alec turns to Magnus.

"I'd hoped we get a demonstration from you," Magnus whispers over the top of Max's head. "Just to show us what mastery looks like."

Jem tells them he'll keep it in mind for next time. They decide to leave before Max wakes up and causes a fuss. Each of them gives Jem a hug, although Magnus can only manage with one arm.

Jem has no other choice than to join the dull chatter around the table. Among the clusters of families, Jem refills his punch as slowly as possible, taking a sip as he spins around. He makes eye contact with Will, trapped between two moms who couldn't be more obvious in fawning over him.

Jem continues to sip his drink, watching Will struggle, and putting the perfect amount of understated smugness in his expression. Will tosses him desperate looks until Jem's sympathy wins over.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jem says. "But I have the tuner in my car, if you want to come and get it."

The mothers raise their eyebrows.

Will replies smoothly. "That'd be great. Thanks again for selling it so cheap." He steps away from the group, grabbing Jem's arm and guiding them out of the room.

"Took you long enough," Will snaps.

"Where's Lucie and Jamie?"

"Playing with Charles. Charlotte's watching them."

"Wait, how do you know her?

"We're co-workers. She's the one who recommended me to you."

"Oh really? I'll have to pay her back someday."

Will narrows his eyes. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

Jem has to fight to look miffed. "Don't pout. Or I'll put you in the timeout corner."

Will snorts. "I see how it is. No wonder Jamie's always so grumpy around you."

Jem freezes. He'd really only rented one room in the building, and so far, the twisting hallways appear deserted. They've covered a lot of ground.

"I'm fair to them, you know that right?" Jem's tone sounds off-key, and with good reason. "I'd never lay hand on either one."

"I know." Will has dropped any trace of humor. "I've asked. And Jamie is a terrible liar."

Jem tries to swallow, finds he can't. "You...you actually thought I was hurting him."

"You've noticed it too. Jamie's behavior around you." Will shakes his head, frustrated. "But I don't think it's your fault. There's other factors in his life at play."

They've reached the end of the hallway, and there's a door, just waiting for them. Will swings it open and they step out onto a iron-wrought balcony. The view is mostly of a parking lot, but that doesn't stop Will from leaning on the railing. Jem follows suit, turning around so he can feel the dig of cold metal against his back.

"Don't be offended," Will says, "It's really nothing personal. When I asked if he wanted a new babysitter, Jamie had a big tantrum and wouldn't talk to me until you came over the next day."

Over the course of the last month, there's been tiny shards of ice embedding in Jem's heart. In mere seconds, he feels every last one melt away.

Jem sighs, "More than anything, it just makes me sad."

Will doesn't need to say anything for Jem to know he agrees. Some master artist has etched it very clearly in the plummet of his lips and the shadows under his high cheekbones. The atmosphere is made up of their own vulnerability, so the words slide easy off Jem's tongue. "What was she like?"

"My wife." Will is excellent at being unreadable.

"Yes," Jem says, very soft. "Jamie's mom."

"Well, where to start?" Will chuckles and it sounds so believably lighthearted. "We met in high school. Had similar interests and hobbies. Even shared the same favorite books." Will smiles fondly, although Jem can't understand why that's so meaningful. "We fell in love. Because that's what teenagers do. Theresa Gray was beautiful in every way, and one of a kind."

Jem waits patiently, already knowing what's being led up to. Jamie has always been shockingly old for his father's age.

"I was seventeen when I got her pregnant. She was sixteen. My father said he'd disown me if I didn't marry her, but I would've done it anyway. I would've done anything for her back then. Practically all of her homework, wrote out her essays, let her cheat off me in class. But she still ended up dropping out of school." He makes a short, humorless noise. "Chronic pain and humiliation is a toxic brew."

Guilt weighs on Will's posture, and Jem doesn't think all of it belongs there. "The blame is on both of you, so don't shoulder it alone."

"Why not? After all, Tessa shouldered the brunt of the consequences. I ruined her life."

Jem keeps his voice steady, "How long has she been gone?"

"Nine months."

That's two months before they met. In the quiet that follows, Jem half-expects to hear the details of how she died. Was it an accident? Illness? Suicide seems disturbingly implied. But in no world will Jem ask if Will isn't ready to tell.

"I used to miss her all the time. I still do, but in the beginning, I couldn't even function." Will casts him a sidelong look and there's a whole novel to be written about the meaning behind his eyes. "Thank God you were there."

"I'll always be there," Jem blurts. Though he continues, because it's the truth, "As long as I'm needed. For Jamie and Lucie. And you."

Shaking his head, "You're so-"

Will reaches for him, and Jem lets himself be pulled in. Allows the fingers stroking his cheek, treating him like china, making his skin burn. It's a good kind of burn. A campfire in the middle of the woods.

"Innocent," Will finishes.

Jem laughs, and it's breathy and strange. "I'm older than you."

"That doesn't make a shred of difference."

With Will leaning in so close, Jem shuts his eyes on instinct.

"I could ruin you," Will rumbles, "Like I did to Tessa." Jem might find that concerning if Will's lips weren't also dragging along his jaw, achingly light. They don't linger long enough to be kisses, but Jem still shudders, his breath coming painfully quick in his chest. Their cheeks brush, and Will's skin is velvet. It feels even better than in Jem's imagination.

"You remind me of her you know."

He wishes Will didn't say that.

In the half-second their lips meet, Jem pulls away.

"I'm not her." He's calm while every good feeling in the world peels away. "Don't confuse us. Ever again."

Will pries him open with those unearthly eyes, his curls falling over his forehead and framing his temples. He's a vision of an angel. Jem wants him with every particle in his body, and he's right in front of him, all for the taking. But Jem...can't. It clicks, why Jamie hates replacements so much. Jem absolutely refuses to be one. _He's just a bandage, slowly soaking up blood._

Finally when Will speaks, he sounds like he's addressing a stranger. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"I do. Between you and me." As much as it hurts, Jem really believes in what he's saying. "If you're still mourning over her, then we need to wait."

Something curious flickers over Will's expression. Jem turns around before he can read too much into it and heads back inside.


End file.
